Got those Adventures in Dentistry, Jaw-Molly, Kickin' the Hydrocodone Blues - Part 1

Nothing like eating a dainty treat at a public event - in this case a tiny little biscuit muffaletta at the public input event for Better Block - and having a molar crown break off in my mouth.

As I stood there, having just expelled the crown - lightly crusted with biscuit, ham, and olive salad - into my hand, staring at it as my tongue began to explore the shard that remained while trying to maintain the conversation I was having at the exactly moment . . . well . . . shit . . . here we go again . . ..

Yes, that's the remnant of my bottom left molar

Clearly, I had an Adventure in Dentistry ahead of me. Nothing new, as all that other stuff in the x-ray tells better than I could. Still, despite all the time I've been in a dentist's chair over the past nearly six decades, it isn't something I get all happy about. More like resigned to the necessariness and, more importantly, expense of it.

Nothing for it but to go have it looked at. <sigh>

Fortunately, there was an opening at my dentist's office the following morning at a time that wouldn't require a lot of shift shifting (we have assigned desk shifts at the Library and it can be difficult to get others to take a shift at the last moment). So, on my bike and off to the dentist down one of the more unpleasant streets in town - Highland Road.

After an only moderately threatening ride I arrive in time to see the good dentist. The tech created the x-ray image above and when the doc came in he immediately said, "Huh . . . that's bad." 

Great.

How bad?

The obvious part - what was left of the tooth had to be extracted. No hope of just pasting the crown in my pocket back onto the stump. That would be too easy, too straightforward. 

So now what? Extract it and do what? 

Two choices - removable bridge thing or implant. The bridge would be shorter lived than the implant but cost less. Then again, it would need to be replaced at least once (assuming I don't die sooner than later) and that would incur more expense. 

The implant would cost more but be more permanent (same caveat as above, that is, only as permanent as I am).  Knowing my predilection for letting things slide I thought it best to go with the implant. That meant getting a CAT scan of my jaw right then, no big given that they have a head scan device in the hallway . . . convenient!

Before getting my head irradiated the doc was good enough to smooth off the jaggedness that was aggravating the hell out of my tongue. A little while later I had a good scan, an appointment for the following week, and a fist full of prescriptions. Yee-haw.

The next Wednesday I spent 2.5 hours, more or less, in a dentist chair having the broken molar extracted, the bone excavated, a molly implanted, the gaps filled with a mix of sterilized, granulated cadaver bone and platelet rich growth hormone spun out of the blood drawn from my arm. Here's what that looks like when all is said and done.

Hello, Molly!

Now, in a week I'm to see the doc again to make sure the gum, sutures, and everything are doing well then, assuming no problems, a four month wait for Phase 2 - removing the protective cap, screwing in the post, creating a temporary crown, and taking a mold for the real crown. 

Yeah . . . I know what you mean . . .

In our next thrill packed episode (yawn) - me and hydrocodone become friends then have a falling out . . . cue "Me and Mrs. Jones" . . .